


When One Door Closes

by endofthyme



Series: Witcher Works [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Cookies, Drinking, Fade to Black Sex Because I Couldn't Be Bothered, Ill-Thought-Out Plans, Innkeeper Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion-centric, M/M, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, POV Third Person Limited, Room Theft, The Chameleon (The Witcher), The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25019014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endofthyme/pseuds/endofthyme
Summary: Avallac'h was living rent-free in Dandelion's headandhis inn.
Relationships: Avallac'h | Crevan Espane aep Caomhan Macha/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046377
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	When One Door Closes

**Author's Note:**

> Another Witcher 3 rarepair fic idea that grabbed me and wouldn't let go. Inspired by a few lines of dialogue from the end of the Bald Mountain quest, which I took and then ran with as fast as I could! And then I drew on some other Witcher 3 moments a little bit for some of the specific scenes.
> 
> For reference, here are the lines that started all this:
> 
>  _Dandelion:_ Ah, and that elf of yours moved into the Ruby Suite. Told me to tell you he's waiting, too.  
>  _Geralt:_ Gave him your best room?  
>  _Dandelion:_ He didn't exactly ask. I'd prepared another room for him, but he blew past me and locked himself in the Ruby. Hasn't peeked out since. Barely eats, drinks only water, and the only thing I've heard from him is "I wish to know when Gwynbleidd and Zireael arrive."
> 
> So, yeah, _obviously_ I had to write shipfic. :P

"It'll just be for a few days, until Geralt and Ciri arrive," Triss was telling him, elaborating on Yennefer's somewhat more to-the-point request.

Dandelion glanced past the two sorceresses at their cloaked and hooded companion, who was looking diffidently away. He couldn't see much of the man's face, aside from his chin and a bit of his cheek, but even with just that much he could immediately recognize the fine bone structure of an elf under there. He was a bit surprised they'd gotten him all the way there inside the walls of Novigrad to his inn, and that they'd walked in the front door rather than sneaking in, at that—though, naturally, Yennefer and Triss were both capable of multifarious wonders.

"Of course! The Chameleon is at your absolute disposal!" he said, gesturing expansively. "Any friend of Geralt's is a friend of mine."

"Well, I don't know if I'd put it quite that way, with him," Yennefer said, wrily handing out one of those devastating smiles of hers. "But, thank you, Dandelion. Just keep him out of sight for a bit, while we move things into place." And then, not waiting for him to draw breath to respond, she turned and strode out.

Triss smiled apologetically as he deflated, and said, "I've also got some things to take care of, but I'll be back tonight, if not sooner. Hold a room for me, would you, Dandelion?"

"Certainly, consider it done!" Dandelion said, rallying admirably, he thought. And then he was left alone with the elf Avallac'h, who still hadn't spoken to or acknowledged him in any way, instead choosing to stare silently askance around the mostly-empty taproom of the Chameleon (which was mostly-empty due to it being midday and, as such, that did not reflect on the prosperity of his place of business at all, thank you very much).

Dandelion cleared his throat, which got no reaction, but Avallac'h did move to follow him when he swept out a hand and said, "Right this way, if you please," so Dandelion considered the battle won with minimal losses. He led the elf upstairs, considering where best to stow him. He had a few rooms open—the one nearest the stairs, for a fast getaway, or perhaps the one at the end of the hall? That way fewer patrons would have a chance to see him whenever he needed to open the door. Yes, that seemed like the best option.

As they came to the second floor, Dandelion absentmindedly reached out his hand to catch hold of Avallac'h's elbow and lead him down the hall to the room in question. The only impression he got from the brief moment of contact was that the elf was entirely skin and bone under all those robes. And then Avallac'h had pulled free of his grip and was ascending the stairs to the top floor instead.

"Wait, the only room up there is—" Dandelion started, darting up after him.

When he reached the next landing, though, Avallac'h was already inside the Ruby Suite, looking with icy disdain around the best room in the Chameleon. "This will do," he pronounced, the only words he'd yet spoken aloud in Dandelion's presence.

 _"Do?!"_ Dandelion said, indignant. "This is—"

Avallac'h turned, looking him square in the eyes for the first time in their brief acquaintance. There were dark shadows there, a wasting sunkenness that Dandelion hadn't encountered in an elf before—even those living here in Novigrad under threat of the Temple Guard. He wondered, suddenly, what the story hidden behind those eyes was. He was certain it was a long one.

He was equally certain Avallac'h wouldn't be telling it to him, then or ever. All the elf said was: "I wish to know immediately when Gwynbleidd and Zireael arrive. Have a meal sent up in a few hours, but otherwise do not disturb me." And then he closed the door firmly in Dandelion's face.

Dandelion would have to be forgiven for his brief stupefaction. The sheer effrontery was simply astounding. A non-paying guest _invading_ his best—and most expensive—suite! When he gathered his wits, he proceeded to bang on the door a few times and try the handle vigorously. But it didn't budge, and he heard no response from within.

He didn't want to shout and attract the attention of the other patrons, so he gave up and stomped downstairs. Geralt would sort it all out when he got here, he was sure.

\---

Dandelion came back that evening carrying a plate from the kitchen. He'd considered sending someone else up instead, but he had a bone to pick with his suite-snatching guest and by Melitele he was going to pick it.

He knocked on the door, cleared his throat, and said in his most deferential tone, "I have the meal you requested, sir." And then he tensed, waiting for his chance.

But Avallac'h's slightly muffled voice from inside only said, "Leave it outside the door."

Dandelion's jaw worked noiselessly as he tried to summon a response that would get his cunning plan back on track. He'd been counting on Avallac'h having to open the door to get his dinner, giving Dandelion the opportunity to shoulder his way inside and then… well, honestly, his plan hadn't fully crystallized as far as what he was going to _do_ once he got inside was concerned… but it wasn't as if there was anything he could do about the lamentable situation from out there in the hall!

Geralt had once told him, in that pithy way of his, that one could only deal with the monster in front of one, and could not be expected to handle every conceivable monster that might be hiding in the shadows. Granted, his witcher friend had been engaged in a swordfight with a pack of slavering beasts at the time, and was primarily referring to Dandelion's (quite justified, but ultimately unsubstantiated) anxious warnings about hearing sounds from the woods in another direction, but the wise counsel had stayed with him to this day. As such, he was certain that he would be able to handle any new obstacles as they arose. At the moment, Dandelion just needed to focus on the primary roadblock in his way: the sturdy oak door fortifying the entrance to the Ruby Suite.

He suppressed the urge to kick it.

"Will _your lordship_ require breakfast tomorrow morning as well?" Dandelion asked instead, acidly, through the door.

"No," came the reply from inside.

 _No?_ Nonplussed, Dandelion opened his mouth, then shut it again. He'd been expecting either an imperious yes or—one couldn't help but hope—a deluge of apologies following a sudden realization from Avallac'h of how very burdensome he was being, preferably alongside the welcome appearance of a generously full coin purse. 

Perhaps he planned to venture outside for sustenance in the coming days. Well. It was his neck to risk, Dandelion supposed.

He set the plate of food down on the floor with a click. And then he stood there staring at it for long moments, wondering if maybe Avallac'h would open the door now that he'd done as the man asked, though it seemed increasingly unlikely. He couldn't hear any movement from inside at all.

Seized with a sudden rush of inspiration, he turned on his heel and walked at a carefully measured pace down the stairs. He waited there for a few breathless seconds before turning again to sneak soundlessly back up, scrupulously treading only on the sections of the stairsteps where the nails and supports were strongest to avoid any creaking from the boards, just as he'd done for countless trysts in countless other men's homes before.

He waited there at the top of the stairway, hardly daring to breathe, eyes fixed on the wooden barricade, ready to spring at any moment the trap he'd laid.

Minutes passed.

Still Dandelion could not hear even a hint of activity from Avallac'h within.

His muscles twinged with the tension of waiting rigidly for his chance to strike. And he was getting bored, besides. 

No less carefully, but a little dejectedly, he crept back downstairs to get back to the important and _busy_ job of running the Chameleon. He couldn't spend all day fussing about his inconvenient tenant—he had responsibilities to attend to!

\---

"No, haven't seen a hooded gentleman come down today," one of his barmaids informed him as she breezed past with a tray of mugs. "Maybe he wasn't wearing the hood?"

"Oh, he'd be wearing the hood," Dandelion muttered—mostly to himself, as she was long gone by then. An admirable work ethic, to be sure, though he hated having to deliver lines to no audience.

It was well past noon. He squinted irritably at the stairwell in the corner, then went to fetch a plate from the kitchen once more to carry up to the Ruby.

There was an empty plate with the remains of yesterday's evening meal sitting on the floor outside the door, very nearly picked clean. There was hardly a crumb left on it, and the chicken bone had been snapped in half and sucked down to the marrow. Dandelion scowled down at it. Had that been sitting there since last night? He'd have to speak to someone about that.

He stepped to the side of it, knocked on the door, and said, as levelly as he could manage, "You said no breakfast, but you didn't mention lunch."

Only because he was listening carefully, he noticed a faint creak from inside: Avallac'h shifting his weight on… the floor? The bed? A chair? There was a pause, and then he heard the elf say, simply, "There is no need."

"What?" Dandelion squawked. "Do you mean to starve in there?" Then, remembering himself, he said more delicately, "Ah, I mean, you are my guest here and it would besmirch my honor if you went hungry! I have some…" He looked down at the plate of various piles of grains and meats and vegetables, mainly stewed to the point of near-unrecognizability. He couldn't quite remember what he'd been told any of it was. But, no matter. "…traditional Novigrad fare here for you, if you'd like to come fetch it inside?"

He waited a few hopeful, fruitless moments, but there was, predictably, no sign of Avallac'h taking the bait.

"…I'll just set it down out here, then. But, ah, as far as future meals go, well…" Dandelion tapered off, trying furiously to think of a way to phrase 'you're going to have to come down out of your foxhole to get your next meal and give me an opening to reclaim the room you've stolen' in a way that was convincing and also that wouldn't necessarily be taken as an attempt to expose the man, who _was_ after all supposed to be kept 'out of sight.'

He had what should have been ample time to come up with something, in the long interval before Avallac'h responded, but his usually keen wit failed him. "Leave the plate, then, since you have brought it," Avallac'h said slowly, as Dandelion cursed the missed opportunity. "Whatever dinner you have available tomorrow will be sufficient, should I still be in residence."

His voice was much closer than it had been before. Dandelion imagined that he was now standing just on the other side of the door, close enough to touch. The door, that is. 

"Certainly, certainly!" Dandelion hastily set Avallac'h's lunch down and snatched up its emptied cousin. He made one last valiant, not-fully-considered effort. "And if you would like any of the many fine beverages available at the Chameleon, you need look no further than—" the bar downstairs, he didn't get a chance to finish saying.

"Water is all I require," Avallac'h rebuffed him firmly.

"Right," Dandelion said, and fled.

He thrust the plate of scraps into the hands of the same barmaid from earlier, she of the hood remark and the _supposed_ work ethic. "I found _this_ outside the door of the Ruby Suite, from last night's dinner," he said loftily, eager to vent his vexation. "Now, he may not be a paying customer _yet,_ but I expect you to keep this establishment up to the _minimum_ of standards regardless!"

She caught hold of the plate with one hand and put the other on her hip, setting her jaw mulishly. "I _did_ check the halls last night, and again this morning. He must have set the plate out afterwards."

"Huh? What? Why?" Dandelion asked aloud, baffled.

"Who knows? I'm not a mind-reader. I just do my job," she said, already carrying the plate away to the kitchen, leaving Dandelion standing there feeling thoroughly chastened. And even more annoyed at Avallac'h than before, for engineering the circumstance he'd found himself in.

He needed a drink.

\---

"The man's infuriating! Absolutely intolerable!" Dandelion complained vehemently to Zoltan later, raising his voice over the familiar roar of a busy taproom.

Rather than offering the appropriate sympathies for his situation, his supposed friend just let out a deep belly laugh.

"What's so funny?" he demanded, scowling, his grip tightening around his goblet.

"Ach, 'tis nothing," Zoltan said, wiping a mirthful tear from his eye. "Just that I heard the exact same words from a lovely young lass not three days past, about you! 'Infuriating! Absolutely intolerable!' Ha! Oh, how the tables have turned." He knocked back a few deep gulps of ale while Dandelion mustered his response.

"That's," he sputtered, "that is rank falsehood! I'll have you know women _adore_ me!"

"Oh, aye," Zoltan responded, serenely. "Didn't get the impression she meant she wouldn't invite you right in if you ever came knocking, if you know what I mean."

"…Huh." Dandelion considered this for a long moment, swirling the remainder of his drink around in its cup a few times before draining it. He turned the words around in his head again, shifting their imagined delivery to be a little more impassioned than factual. _Infuriating! Intolerable!_ He could picture a chin held righteously high, cheeks flushed. It wasn't an unappealing image. "So…" he said, clearing his throat, "just to, ah, satisfy my curiosity, who was this exactly?"

The dwarf cast him a knowing look. "Sorry, lad. Can't say I remember for sure. Heard too similar a sentiment too often over the past months. You're quite the incorrigible flirt, Dandelion, frustrating so many ladies! Right enough you get a wee taste of your own medicine."

"My own…?" he started. And never let it be said that the bard Dandelion didn't have as strong a grasp on narrative parallelism as any storyteller, because despite the alcohol dulling his wits, something clicked sharply into place. "Wait. Are you saying you think I _doth protest too much_ about _Avallac'h?!"_ he demanded, blood pounding suddenly in his ears.

Zoltan blinked and furrowed his brow. "What? Er. Wasn't thinkin' nothin'… Was a bit of a funny coincidence, that's all." The furrow deepened, as he took in Dandelion's expression. "Huh. D'you mean to say…?"

"That's absurd!" Dandelion said loudly, abruptly standing up. There was a clatter as his chair tipped over backwards behind him, but he ignored it with dignity. "And, would you look at the time, I should be getting to bed," he continued, as smoothly as anyone ever had said anything after drinking half a bottle of wine. "Some of us have to work for a living!"

"It's nine in the ploughin' evening, you jackass!" Zoltan hollered at his back, pounding his mug on the table.

Dandelion just waved dismissively, not turning around.

\---

He flopped down onto the bed in his personal room upstairs, pulling his hat off and tossing it aside. He'd just wanted to distract himself from his current problems by getting drunk and griping about them at length—was that too much to ask?

He stared at the ceiling and sighed. Maybe it was.

He wondered if Avallac'h was still awake in the room directly above him, not drinking, or _eating,_ or enjoying any of the many widely-acclaimed entertainments that the Chameleon had to offer. Just, what, _reading?_ Sitting in silent contemplation of his woes?

And there he went again. He kept thinking of Avallac'h, even when he didn't want to. Counting the hours since the man's last meal. Wondering how he might respond to a range of hypothetical gambits. Remembering that single solitary moment of eye contact. Was it remotely possible that Zoltan had been onto something?

Well, certainly not. Dandelion just… thought it a shame that a handsome (all elven men were handsome and he defied anyone to claim otherwise) and clearly troubled man like Avallac'h was cooped up alone in that suite, without any of the finer things in life like wine, women, and song. Things Dandelion could easily provide, for just a handful of coins. But instead he had a reclusive ascetic holed up in the Ruby Suite, a place _intended_ to be the very lap of luxury and excess—it simply could not be borne!

Perhaps Avallac'h just… needed a nudge. Something… subtle.

Dandelion's gaze wandered about the room, searching, and lighted on his desk, where sat a pile of some of the more _risqué_ of the playbills he'd commissioned for the cabaret.

Yes, those would do nicely.

He leapt to his feet, grabbed a handful of pages, and made for the door, only struggling for a brief ten seconds with the latch. He ascended the stairs to the suite with the exaggerated care of one who was perfectly capable of handling themselves after imbibing, and he would daresay he stumbled just once, perhaps twice.

Clutching the playbills to his chest, he approached the door that had plagued him these several days, his enthusiasm fading suddenly into apprehension. What if Avallac'h was standing near the door when he slipped the pages under and caught him at it? What should he say? It hardly bore imagining, being found on one's knees thrusting lewd images under someone else's door, even if the door was in fact, strictly speaking, one's own.

He'd just have to ascertain where in the room Avallac'h was first. Merely a brief peek, nothing untoward. Was he already in bed, or was he possibly still up and seated at one of the tables, reading? Or—or meditating, perchance, as Geralt often did? If he was at the table nearest the door, Dandelion's enterprise might founder here, too risky to attempt. He had to know. He dropped to his knees to squint through the keyhole.

Avallac'h was sitting at the far table, which meant he was well out of range of potentially catching anyone who might leave him any unexpected gifts. The chair he'd chosen put him in profile relative to the door, but he'd taken his hood off in the privacy of the Ruby, so Dandelion could see his face and, for the first time, his gray-blond hair and pointed ears. In fact, Avallac'h had taken off his bulky outer layers entirely, and was dressed simply in a close-fitted tunic, blue-gray in color with delicate silver embroidery about the edges. The sharp bones of his shoulders and elbows stood out through the fabric as he bent intently over a tome laid open before him on the tabletop. 

His hand moved to turn a page, then reached out to pick up a spoon from the plate resting to his right. He was still picking over his food from lunch, like a bird! It must have been unpleasantly cold and congealed after this many hours, but he was not paying that any mind, just picking up the tiniest morsel on the tip of his spoon and raising it to his lips to slowly chew and swallow. Then, a full thirty seconds later, he did it again. It was a bit hard to tell from the angle Dandelion was limited to, but the plate didn't look near empty at all.

That settled it. This was a man in _desperate_ need of an introduction to profligacy.

Dandelion began to carefully slide the playbills under the door.

Avallac'h's back straightened and his head whipped around to face the intrusion, his piercing eyes seeming to fix directly on Dandelion's own through the keyhole.

Dandelion dropped the papers, scrambled to his feet, and ran pell-mell down the stairs. He didn't stop until he'd reached his room, barely having the presence of mind not to slam the door shut behind him and give away beyond a shadow of a doubt where he'd fled to. He closed it, locked it gingerly, and shuffled backwards until his calves hit the side of his bed, which he sat down upon heavily. And as the adrenaline faded from his alcohol-greased veins with a sputter, he collapsed into a deep, dreamless sleep.

\---

The next morning, he was more than a touch dismayed by the memory of what he'd gotten up to the previous night. It seemed rather less sensible by the light of day than it had under cover of darkness. But at least he'd gotten away clean and there was _no way_ anyone would suspect it had been him, even if they found out about it. He just had to act like normal and not admit any involvement whatsoever, should he be asked, which he definitely wouldn't be.

"Dandelion, sir, did you—"

"No, it wasn't me!" he said, adamantly.

"—have a… chance to try the cookies Gillis just baked…?" his bartender finished, a little perplexedly. He stared at Dandelion, who felt his face growing red. "Sorry, what wasn't you?"

"Nothing, nothing. No, I didn't," Dandelion said in a rush. "I shall try them presently. Good day." He turned on his heel and made a beeline for the kitchen, from whence wafted the distinct smells of vanilla and caramelized sugar.

There were several trays sitting out, cooling, and the Chameleon's head chef was intent on the task of pulling out another and so did not acknowledge his entrance. Dandelion snagged a delicately-browned cookie from the nearest platter, which was already down a few members, and took a bite.

It was exquisitely sweet, and soft, and warm. His teeth sank into it like a knife into butter, with the minimum of resistance. His other hand snapped up to catch the little crumbs that had gathered at the corners of his mouth, as he chewed languidly and swallowed. He finished off the rest of the treat with relish, licking the crumbs and the remaining traces of sugar from his fingers.

After the morning he'd had—waking up to the sharp pain of sunlight in light-sensitive eyes and the sharper pain of abject embarrassment—taking a moment to enjoy a simple pleasure was an absolute balm on his strained nerves. The cookies were magnificent, and his customers would enjoy them, he was sure.

He turned to go. Then paused.

And then he slid a plate from the top of a stack and turned back to start piling a few of the cookies onto it. The chef gave him a look—which Dandelion riposted with his most charming smile—but didn't say anything to deter him. He walked out of the kitchen with his plunder, and then his feet carried him, unerringly, up the two flights of stairs to the door of the Ruby Suite.

He knocked, and heard a brief shuffle of movement beyond. "I've brought you some cookies," he said. "Fresh-baked. Don't let them sit out too long, alright? They're best when they're warm."

He had just started to bend over to set the plate down when the door, so long closed, swung open in front of him.

Blinking, he glanced up to see Avallac'h standing there, still wearing the tunic from the previous night. The elf was looking down at him, his head tilted ever so slightly, and his gaze didn't waver as Dandelion sheepishly straightened back up, plate still gripped in his hands.

"What is it that you seek to gain from all of this?" Avallac'h enunciated carefully, and Dandelion could not contrive to interpret the question as only referring to baked goods.

All the explanations Dandelion could think of—that he wanted to free up the room for a paying customer, or get some compensation from Avallac'h, or at least get the man to buy some alcohol to recoup his losses—all dried up on his tongue. They felt… petty, suddenly. Petty and false.

"You seemed lonely," Dandelion said quietly, holding the plate out.

Avallac'h stared at him for a long moment with those pale, shadowed eyes of his. And then he stood aside from the doorway to let Dandelion in.

Dandelion complied mechanically, watching Avallac'h shut the door behind them both and reset the lock. He felt a faint, jittery, buzzing sensation start to suffuse him as the elf turned to examine him once more.

He wondered what exactly Avallac'h was seeing.

Whatever it was, it seemed to… decide him, somehow. His expression shifted from a probing sort of look to one of certainty, though Dandelion could have sworn he hadn't moved a muscle in his face to change it. The elf's newfound surety was at once both bewildering and grounding, an unexpected rocky outcropping in a turbulent sea.

Avallac'h began to walk in a measured arc around him, like a beast of prey, then stepped close, effectively herding an unresisting Dandelion backwards until he collided with the sideboard along the wall nearest the door and tottered onto it, half-sitting, half-leaning.

The elf took the plate of cookies from Dandelion's suddenly nerveless hands. Their fingers brushing sent a shiver through the bard, which was only compounded by another when Avallac'h plucked up the topmost cookie in one hand and then leaned over Dandelion to set the plate down on the sideboard with the other, flagrantly grazing Dandelion's side with his arm as he did so.

Dandelion watched as the cookie in Avallac'h's hand was then raised up to the elf's lips, whereupon he took the daintiest of bites. He kept just… _nibbling_ at the edge, carefully savoring each tiny piece that his teeth broke off. Then his eyes fell closed and he hummed just barely audibly, swaying forward just a touch further into Dandelion's space.

Dandelion couldn't quite help the noise he made in his throat. Avallac'h's eyes reopened—the bastard looked amused and a bit triumphant—and then, gods, _finally,_ he lowered the cookie from his mouth and leaned in, pressing his knee between Dandelion's.

He tasted like powdered sugar and starlight.

Seeking more—more of the taste, more contact, just _more_ —Dandelion reached out to drag Avallac'h in closer, practically on top of him. The sideboard wobbled dangerously under the increased weight, but it held. Avallac'h breathed a short, sharp laugh into his mouth and Dandelion was vaguely aware of him worming an arm free from where it was pinned between their chests, to—he heard the contents of the plate beside him shift slightly—set the cookie he'd been holding down on top of the pile. Then that hand, freed of its burden, began to run languorously up and down Dandelion's spine.

"To bed?" Avallac'h pulled back and said, sounding hardly out of breath at all, unlike Dandelion, who in response gasped out, "Absolutely."

What happened for the next several hours, well, there were some things private enough that even a bard wouldn't tell tales about them.

Not… specifically, in any case.

\---

Dandelion was just starting to think about taking a quick break to bring something up to Avallac'h when Geralt and Ciri made their long-awaited arrival to the Chameleon. Naturally, this would happen precisely at the moment calculated to cause Dandelion the most emotional conflict, like they were all living in a storybook with the overarching moral 'be careful what you wish for.' It wasn't that he wasn't ecstatic to see them both well—of course he was. It was just that… if they'd shown up just a day earlier, he would've bid Avallac'h an unfond farewell and been glad to see the back of him, and would've felt only a twinge of some regretful feeling that he wouldn't've been able to put proper words to.

Instead he felt…

Well, it was more than a twinge.

While Geralt stopped to speak with Triss in her room, Dandelion stole upstairs to catch a moment with Avallac'h alone. It felt different, this time, taking the stairs up to the Ruby. Like it was the final time he'd ever do it—even though he _would,_ and he knew it. There just would be someone else waiting at the top.

He knocked on the door and said, "Avallac'h." And, momentarily, it swung open.

Avallac'h's gaze flicked down—probably noting Dandelion wasn't carrying anything this time—but he ushered him inside all the same.

"I'm," Dandelion said. He glanced away, breaking eye contact just long enough to regain his bearings. "No, it's—Geralt and Ciri are back."

Something closed off in Avallac'h's face, something he hadn't realized had been open when he walked in the door. And then Avallac'h just… thanked him, turned away, and retreated across the room to start pulling on his layers of cloaks, his vambraces. His armor.

"Thank you, Dandelion," he had said. It was the first time that he'd used Dandelion's name, and that included during the full length of their recent assignation. Dandelion hadn't been entirely sure until that moment that Avallac'h had actually committed it to memory after their introduction several days prior. And yet, despite that, he was having a difficult time stopping himself from blurting out promises like 'there will be a place for you here whenever you come back.' Really, he admonished himself, he _couldn't._ He'd be damned if he was going to keep the Ruby Suite empty merely on the _chance_ that a man he'd only just met would want to return. He had more self-respect than that. Nevermind that his mind was already conjuring scenarios wherein all the rooms in the Chameleon could be made occupied on short notice, so that the only logical option would be Avallac'h sleeping in Dandelion's bed.

Of course, that was just unmitigated foolishness, seeing as Avallac'h hadn't looked in his direction at all since he'd thanked Dandelion for the information and turned his back.

Dandelion desperately needed to get out of there.

He mumbled an excuse, probably incoherently, and made for the door. He flew down the steps and had rounded the turn leading to the ground floor when he heard a doorknob turn and Triss's voice lifted in a farewell that meant Geralt was probably right there in the hall behind him, with his next destination the Ruby Suite.

Dandelion didn't slow down.

For the next fifteen minutes, he couldn't even pretend he was doing anything but sit in the corner watching the stairs. Two other guests descended, the sight of their shoes on the steps making Dandelion straighten up half-unwillingly each time, before it was finally Avallac'h and Geralt who came down, side-by-side.

Avallac'h was wearing the hood again, which meant Dandelion couldn't see his face at all from where he was seated. Especially because he didn't look left or right, only straight ahead towards the exit, keeping pace with Geralt's stride.

Dandelion was sure that this was it, the last he'd ever see of the man. Avallac'h had swept into his life with his hood up, gaze averted, not acknowledging his existence, and he was leaving the same way. He couldn't help but think, bitterly, that it all had a kind of poetic symmetry. He might have to write a ballad. Stories of failed romance were in vogue recently, so he was sure it would sell. He'd sit there and watch Avallac'h walk away, stew in it, and then he'd get started. He already had a few ideas: a repeating motif of doors opening and shutting—shutting forever, in the end—and something poignant and metaphorical about veils. The crude beginnings of a melody were even starting to form in his head.

But then, just short of the door, Avallac'h paused and turned his head to look directly Dandelion's way.

Dandelion startled upright at the unexpected attention, then did his level best to act as if he hadn't.

The corners of his mouth twitching ever so slightly, Avallac'h dipped his head in a nod. A 'thank you,' maybe.

Feeling an unlooked-for warmth bloom, Dandelion grinned back and did a little seated bow, with a flourishing gesture that encompassed the Chameleon. A 'you're welcome,' maybe. And welcome in more ways than one.

Just beyond Avallac'h, Geralt had himself stopped walking and was looking between them both with eyebrows raised. He said something to Avallac'h that Dandelion couldn't quite make out over the surrounding chatter. Avallac'h responded placidly, still looking at Dandelion as he did so. Whatever he had said, Geralt just barked out a laugh, then gestured at the exit, saying something that Dandelion was nearly positive ended in 'let's go,' from his amateur's interest in lipreading and, well, the clear contextual clues.

Avallac'h nodded again at Dandelion, this time an evident farewell, then moved to precede Geralt out of the front door of the Chameleon.

Thus the elf Avallac'h's stay under Dandelion's roof came to an end, on a more optimistic note than he'd been imagining minutes before.

He could still write the ballad, he thought.

He'd just end it with a door left open.

**Author's Note:**

> We never do see these two actually interact, but I think they could work well together. Avallac'h was so excited to get to tell the Sunstone story to his captive audience during the main quest—I bet Dandelion would love to hear stuff like that, haha. I'm not going to write it though because inventing elven legends is a bit beyond me...
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed!


End file.
